


Grim Crusade

by Arantir



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Boys' Love, Dark, Death Knight, Drama, Fantasy, Fights, M/M, Magic, Necromancy, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21650353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arantir/pseuds/Arantir
Summary: Slowly, the bony, dead-bleached fingers closed around the medallion on his chest. He could no longer feel the coldness of the metal. Nothing could fill the void in his heart any more. He stroked his thumb over the engraved name on the snap lid: Aidan. Carelessly, he let go of the only anchor point of his earlier life. He had returned home.
Relationships: Own Character/Own Character





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.animexx.de/fanfiction/390058/?js_back=1
> 
> I am SuperCraig of Animexx and "Der grimme Kreuzzug" is my own project, based within the World of Warcraft.

A roaring storm accompanied his arrival. Lightning shrugged at the firmament. The fertile forest of Arathi Highlands, source of food and full of life, it simply died under the steps of the mount. Where the hooves came into contact with the earth, the grass blackened, flowers withered and even the trees seemed to be infested with rot.

His right hand held the reins tightly encircled. How long had it been since he had moved out? Weeks? Months? Years? He didn't know; time had become insignificant. The sand in his hourglass, it was constantly pouring, and yet it would never end. The proud Sir Connor, a former knight of the Unicorn Guard of the Arathi Highlands, had changed. Emaciated, shaggy, bleached to death – a walking corpse – he crouched on his horse.

When he reached the border of the forest, the young knight brought his horse to a halt. Before him, the Unicorn Guard built up, a proud fortress, with high ramparts, thick stone walls and a soul that had been besieged countless times without success. The whole soul of the highlands, it lay in this one fortress bedded, sheltered and protected. There, Connor had once sworn the oath to defend the country and the people, to put his needs behind those of his master. It was there that he had broken this oath again. His principles, his existence, all that had once been dear to him, it lay there buried, betrayed and abandoned. The young knight had followed the whisper in the darkness that had promised him freedom and power, for both of them. Now, before the hotly anticipated moment he had been waiting for so long, he felt nothing. Cold and darkness surrounded his heart, as did his former love. He felt nothing more.

Screams could be heard from a distance. Clearly the noise of a battle. Under a deafening noise, rock and debris were torn from the wall as a cannonball eats into the wall. The large metal grid hung sparsely in the fishing rods and defied more badly than anything else the onslaught of the invaders. Catapults, ballista and cannons, along with the foreign men and women, sapped on the defenders. They proudly carried their master's coat of arms, a black serpent on a white background, swaying around a scepter, on their chests. For each of them who fell, two new soldiers moved in. Soon they would flock to the fortress and conquer it, wipe out any life there or enslave it.

Incuriously, Connor buckled with the reins. Young, he had escaped his fate, had swapped his former life for a curse. Why should he care about others? Their life, love and happiness, it had become insignificant. Didn't they once deny him his luck? So why should he take sides for a country that didn't really want him?

Uninterested, the young knight rode towards the main gate. He has not been troubled yet. Connor had no insinuating himself in this conflict, nor to take sides. Both groups were disgraceful. The unicorn had denied him what he once loved more than himself, and the serpent was led by a baron whose greed and yoke were downright legendary. One ruler was as bad as the other. There was only one side left, and that was his own.


	2. Badger vs. Snake

He was stopped just outside the main gate. He had actually been noticed. A well-placed counter-attack directly into the enemy's back would have been enough to take the attackers into a plier’s grip. On the other hand, who should come to the aid of the Unicorn Guard? The count was not a member of the Alliance and was hostile to his neighbors. In addition, his empire was at the upper end of the Eastern Kingdoms. Geographically as well as politically, the country was completely isolated. In the end, this circumstance would break the unicorn's neck.

"Who are you?" a young boy, at most 17 years old, asked him. With the spear in his hand, he actually dared to tarnish him. Connor's gaze wandered to the top of the weapon. The ice-blue, cold eyes peeked out from the slits of his helmet. Disgusting to lead this type of weapon. Mercenaries, militias and peasants carried spears, but no decent soldiers. He had always criticized this circumstance: a farmer should be allowed to be a farmer, just as a soldier was allowed to dedicate his life to war; to press one into the other only made both unhappy.

"Connor" was the short answer of the young knight, who was preparing to continue riding. "Turn around, or-" the boy began, but was immediately interrupted by Connor. "Or?" he asked. His voice seemed unnatural, almost as if several lips were shaping the words. Youthful recklessness, coupled with a sense of superiority and self-assurance, led the snotty brat to stand in his way. He had neither the time nor the leisure to deal with a half-strength.

"Or I will get you from your horse!" Somehow the boy must have ignored the fact that he was not in a position to threaten him. Connor used to praise the boy for his courage, but today he was just annoying and in the way, an obstacle. Without a word, the knight stretched out his armored hand and pressed it in the stranger's face. He screamed agonizingly. His lips were contorted in pain as his hands settled around Connor's arm. The stench of burnt meat swayed the air. With a jerk, the knight carelessly pushed the boy back into the grass and continued to ride. His fate, as well as his whimpering and moaning, did not bother the nobleman.

The other soldiers had now also become aware of him. Riots encripped the crowd, which blazed against the gate. An ambush? A single man? Where did this oppressive, dark aura that suddenly surrounded them all come from? Some of them threw their weapons to the ground in panic and ran away screaming as they saw their wounded comrade. Hands and face were burned. Connor's glove had left an imprint on the boy's face, staring blinded into the darkness of the black clouds above him. If he survived, he would probably remain a cripple forever.

A small group of fighters were so stupid to stand in his way. Perhaps it was the anger at their comrade's fate, or the sheer desperation, that drove them to such a suicide, but in the end that didn't change anything. All of them, whether man or woman, freshman or veteran, were just an obstacle. Another obstacle to fate, which had to be removed.

Connor gave his horse the spurs. Effortlessly, the creature drove a wedge into the attackers before being pierced by spears, skewers and dung forks. The horse smashed around him, breaking bones with his hooves, while more and more weapons were found in his body. The young knight held the reins tightly as the first attacks hit him. Neither wood nor metal seemed to stop horse or rider.

The horse continued its path in a rabid way. Screaming, some of the weapon bounced off the animal's red scraper. Despite the many wounded and dead that it left behind, there were still enough men and women who did not let themselves be fooled by the spectacle. Their ranks were a little smaller, but they had supremacy on their side. At some point this stranger would fall, and the one who brought his head to the commander might escape the misery in which he was living.

When his horse could almost no longer move, whether the many attackers who had pierced it with their weapons, the rider stretched out his flat left hand. At her feet a blood-red circle formed, which was provided with numerous, strange runes. The first ones screamed and touched their temples. Many fell to the ground, rolled back and forth insanely in pain, begging for it to stop. The blood in their veins boiled until they burst and the life juice spread to the surrounding soldiers. Connor, too, was bloodied. His coat of arms skirt, which was adorned with a badger on a white background, hung on his chest, torn and bloodstained.

The knight slipped out of his saddle. Removing the weapons from the horse would take too long. The animal could barely move, and resembled a hedgehog, peppered with spears, pikes and lances protruding from its body. Indifferent, his horseman rose over the dead and dying, and stood tirelessly toward the gate.

There were still enough fools who thought they could stand in his way. Connor was just tired of the situation. Misguided loyalty, false heroism, the veneration of men and women in popular stories whose exploits were questionable, as well as the desire to ascend to escape simple life; he loathed all of it. In the past, he had been exactly the same, even more so: Aidan had once loved him for it.

Wordlessly, Connor pulled the two rune blades out of their crossed fabric sheaths on his back. The skulls grinned mockingly as the weapons found their first victims. Effortlessly, the swords cut through armor and split shields. The runes on the surfaces of the blades glowed blue as the young knight constantly made his way to Unicorn Guard, under the high blood toll of the defenders.

Nothing could harm him. His armor was made of the blood of an old god. Only a weapon made of the same material could pierce it. Mortals were burned at contact, and the longer they were exposed to primal saronite, the more their minds fell into madness. However, he was allowed to enjoy the benefits of this rare raw material while keeping his mind. He still had his goal in mind, and wouldn't let anything stop him.

Silently, Connor parried another spear with his blade, deflected it to the side, only to cut off the owner's head. Where his weapons did not kill, the wounded soon fell into madness. They could no longer distinguish friend from foe, watched their limbs rot, or burn them out from within because their blood began to heat.

The corpses of the snake baron's soldiers paved his way, and he had already come much closer to his goal, the gate, when the attackers suddenly stopped and abandoned him. Had they finally realized that no one was up to him? Were they tired of wasting their lives senselessly, of breathing it out, for a man who knew neither them nor the needs of their families? Connor's quiet hope was abruptly dashed when horns sounded.

With a jolt of his outstretched hand, Connor fell some of the now passive troops, who, as if by ghostly hand, were lifted into the air and grabbed their throats in a roaring way. Black fog distorted their vision until they finally twisted their eyes and fell lifeless to the ground. Now the last remnant of the fools was convinced that they could not take on the stranger. Connor was close to his goal of gaining access to Unicorn Guard. Only the commander had to be cleared out of the way, and the siege was lifted.

Meanwhile, cheers erupted on the part of the defenders. Some, at least, were drawn to a gesture of joy. They held their weapons to sky, but most were queasy to mute. They recognized Connor's coat of arms skirt, no doubt, but their former hero, where did he get these terrifying skills from? How cruel his actions were, and how indifferent the gaze of the cold, blue eyes that protruded from the slits of sight. The tummy of hooves, coupled with the louder horns, made everyone, including Connor, look to the side.


	3. A dishonorable duel

On a magnificent brown horse, a face well-known for Connor rode. "Well, who do we have here?" asked the rider in silver armor. His mocking undertone could not be ignored. "Did the dishonorable Sir Connor turn up to take his oath?" Of course, Sir Elliot Stansfield, knight under the banner of the snake, had not lost his arrogance and condescending tone. He and Connor had once been something of a friendly rival. At that time, the young knight had still enjoyed these chats.

"Get out of my way, Elliot," Connor replied quietly, lowering his weapons a little. The mountain of corpses around the knight, as well as the frightened glances of the soldiers, made Sir Elliot pause. Connor was a good swordsman, but not even he could resist such overwhelming supremacy. He didn't even seem injured. Elliot was not allowed to let the burgeoning fear be noticed, or he would end up as a mockery of his master. "How are you going to scare me away, Connor? With your ornamental weapons?" With his head, the tall, lanky knight nodded at his opponent's swords.

"Elliot," Connor began again, but was immediately interrupted. "Time doesn't seem to have meant well with you, Connor," Elliot quipped. "You look even more slender than you used to. Your presentation is more than questionable. Is this the latest armor for dishonorable hedge knights?" Wordlessly, Connor pushed his swords into the sheaths on his back and set out to bridge the last distance between him and the gate, but Sir Elliot did not want to make it that easy for him.

He got off the horse and blocked the entrance to Unicorn Guard with his sword in his hand. "I can't let you through here." What he didn't say. The previous bunch of men and women believed that. "S-sir, you should..." stuttered a completely frightened woman, but was silenced by her commander with a gesture. "Well, are you afraid, Connor?" he tried to provoke him to a carelessness. Elliot was up to every trick, and certainly prepared for such a grotesque situation. In his lifetime, Connor had admired him for his quick understanding.

Connor reached for Elliot's blade with his left hand and simply broke it between his armored fingers. He clenched his right hand to a fist and thundered it against his opponent's chest, leaving a thick dent. In disbelief, Elliot slumped backwards and fell on his back. Like a helpless beetle, he trampled, shouting orders to help him, get for Connor, but his soldiers remained in place.

As Connor climbed over the raging Elliot, he noticed something hindering his usual gait. A glance down showed that he had had a dagger rammed into the spot that was not protected by the armor: the knee pit. Where the metal had to give way for mobility, the weapon was stuck. Connor looked at the dagger, then on the grinning Elliot. "You poisoned the dagger," the blond-headed man monotoned, pulling the narrow blade out of the flesh. With an expressionless look, he turned the weapon in his hand a little before carelessly throwing it aside.

"You may have changed, Connor, but nothing can withstand the poison of the forest spiders in the long run." Elliot's triumphant grin soon turned into sheer horror as Connor took off his helmet. His expressionless, empty eyes – they were filled with a cold blue. When it was too late, the fool finally understood. "But, but, but..." the Baron's Knight stuttered and desperately tried to distance himself from Connor.

"What did you think, Elliot?" The bloodless, cracked lips formed a cold, cruel smile. "I would have thought you were wiser. False pride, along with your greed to ascend as quickly as possible, probably even to coup, was it worth it?" Connor's corners of his mouth moved a little more as he pulled the right sword out of the sheath and held it to the sky. Black lightning, bordered by a green aura, shrugged from the tip of the weapon, and drove into the bodies of the dead soldiers, who slowly rose again. Despite fatal wounds, disfigured bodies and sometimes missing limbs, the former soldiers of the snake again reached for their weapons.

Panic erupted. Now the miserable remnant of the former siege force finally fled. Screaming, screaming and crying, they stormed down the slope, leaving their commander behind, as did the life-threatening horrors of their former comrades. Nothing could stop the dark knight, not even the wrath of their master, whether their defeat, could be as cruel as the fate that flourished upon them in further resistance.

"You know Elliot," Connor began, as the living corpses slowly gathered around the two. "I thought you were much, but not so dishonorable. A poisoned dagger." The smile on the features of the blond-head died instantly. "You would have been almost successful." Connor climbed over his defeated opponent, who struggled to look at his one-time rival. "And you?"

In fact, the knight paused. Slowly, he turned around. The heavy boots stopped in front of Elliot, who crouched down like a small child. His loose mouthpiece probably only became fully aware of him at that moment. "Me?" Connor repeated the question. "I acted out of love." If he hated something about Elliot, it was that confident, triumphant look. "Well!" the rival shouted, pointing the finger at him. "Yes," Connor confirmed his guess and walked back towards the gate. "Eat him if you want, and then guard the surroundings," were his last words, before he set out to finally find the destination of his journey, under the death cries of his opponent, who was crushed by his former soldiers.


	4. A touch of destiny

The soldiers of the unicorn were not so stupid to want to compete with him. Why? He had finally saved them, but Connor could feel the fear in her heart. What had become of their former hero? One of the monsters they had fought on the roof of the world, in Northrend. Why?

Without taking notice of the others, Connor strode across the bent metal grille. His boots left traces of fire where they hit the cobbled path. He would now face his fate and find out if his sacrifice had any sense. "No," he corrected himself internally: whether Aidan would understand it.

It had become quiet. His own soldiers didn't make a fuss, and the others didn't really dare to do more than breathe. His mere presence was enough to make them all shudder. He paused on the stone steps up to the throne room. What had really become of him? Friends of yesteryear, they meant nothing to him. He had killed Elliot without flinching. Regret, or even a bite of conscience? There was nothing to find. He felt empty. The darkness had engulfed Connor, and he couldn't break the veil on his own.

With a powerful jolt, he opened the large wing door and entered the once so familiar place. He hadn't really changed. Everything was still in place, candlesticks, red carpet, the wooden beams, even the throne was undamaged. Only the person who sat in it, it seemed different. Aidan was battered and tired. The once shiny, pitch-black hair was exhausted, and deep rings under the eyes adorned his face.

"Connor," the prince said. Hearing his name, the young knight inevitably had to think of the medallion, which was dormant on his chest. The ice-cold fingers reached for it and let it snap. Aidan's effigy came to light, a little younger, and less serious, but he was it, clearly. That was his Aidan, his great love. The forbidden fruit he once wanted to taste. They had become friends, then brothers, and in the end lovers.

"Aidan," the bloodless lips that jumped, shaped the other's name. His gaze spoke volumes. Connor could see that he still had to trust him from the fact that no guards harassed them. Both were alone. Should he break the prevailing silence? No, that was not his task this time. He had made no mistakes, on the contrary; it was him who had compensated for Aidan's lack of courage.

"What happened to you?" the black-haired man breathed sadly. There it was again, this one gaze that had always driven Connor mad in the past. Feelings of guilt once crushed him when Aidan looked this way - today, he felt something different. "Are you still?" the prince whispered, without rising from his throne. Connor's gaze fell on the tiara Aidan wore. It was new, and it was extraordinarily good, better than any crown.

Why did he hesitate? Why did Connor have to stand in front of his love now, here, in this moment, and wrestle with himself? Find words where he couldn't find any. He had made up his mind, and yet, now that it was time, he did not want any more. He wanted to turn around, just go again. Could he? Would the guards let him pass? What would become of Sir Connor? A hero who had protected the Unicorn Guard, or a monster that spread fear and terror?

"Connor," Aidan began again, but was silenced with a finger pointing. "No, Aidan, I'm no longer myself. I have become what you once wanted." Now it was the young prince's gaze that was marked by feelings of guilt. It didn't really take any more words. "I didn't want that," Aidan said softly, and it was possible to see how much he was wrestled with himself.

"Me neither”, Connor said monotonously. "I wish you would stand by me, protect me and care about me, as I once did for you." Slowly, Connor took a few steps forward. It seemed almost hesitant. "I waited." The voice of the young knight received an accusatory undertone. "That you confess to me. We could have been happy, you know."

Aidan writhed under the cold, empty gaze of his loved one. Although it was only a shell, soulless, cruel, cold, he could still recognize the man he had once loved. "It was more important to you to ascend the throne, wasn't it, to follow your father?" Again, the knight put one foot in front of the other. With each step, his regret grew more, as did the darkness that arose in him.

"I... If you had just waited, I would have come up with a solution," the prince said desperately. Empty words, like the shell that Connor had become. "Which one, Aidan? That we continue our game of hide and seek? That I watch you marry, have children, and play the happy, loving husband to the outside world?" The knight's voice became more cutting, colder than it already was. "Our love..." he began, but then paused.

Aidan's hopeful gaze, begging for forgiveness, made him reconsider his next words. "At first, I thought I was going to get over you somehow, understand it, but I couldn't. Instead, I left." The next steps have now been more energetic, firmer. The blue glow in Connor's pupils, it looked like a blazing fire that seemed to burn beyond the edges of the eyes.

"The pain of not being allowed to love you anymore was unbearable, but too sweet to end my life." Finally, Aidan got up, walked down the podium, toward Connor and lingered in front of him. At that moment he really became aware of what he had done. Carefully he took the cold, creaking cheeks between his hands and stroked his thumbs over it. He placed his forehead on that of his loved one and could already feel the first tears burning in his eyes.

Connor felt nothing, nothing at all. The warm, tender touch that he had longed for so much, it could not drive away the darkness. Nothing could do that anymore. He was doomed to live between life and death. It was impossible to die and to be killed, Sir Connor was too proud of that.

Aidan looked up at Connor and smiled sadly. "Do you feel nothing anymore?" His hand wandered along the breastplate, to the medallion. Strangely, he did not burn himself on the strange metal. In fact, the knight still wore it. So, did he still love him?

The young knight looked down on his former love, expressionless, empty. The fire in his eyes increased. Aidan's gaze froze the moment the rune blade pierced him. Greedily, the cursed metal devoured through flesh and bones, directly into his heart. In credulously, the prince stared into his loved one's face. The carefully caught him. With a smoldering sound, Connor pulled the rune blade out of Aidan's body and pushed it back into the sheath on his back. The young prince's life juice wetted his fingers.

"My heart, and my love, they are now forever yours," he breathed, putting his cold lips on Aidan's. The prince shrugged, roared, and then slumbered in Connor's arms. The darkness remained. It encompassed him like a veil that no one could penetrate. "The dead should rest," he whispered, and, with Aidan in his arms, went up, to the pulpit from where the incumbent ruler usually gave his address. Strangely, something stirred in him as he climbed the steps.

Freedom. He was finally free. Connor's gaze fell on the dead prince's tiara. With a jerk, he pulled it off his head. Aidan's neck broke, and his skull hung limply backwards. With one kick, he lifted the doors to the balcony from the hinges and stepped outside. All eyes, both dead and undead, suddenly turned on him.

Horrified screams broke through the oppressive silence that had accompanied him up. The remaining soldiers watched with fear and panic as their beloved prince rested in the arms of this monster, dead, his eyes twisted.

Connor carelessly threw the body over the parapet. The lifeless body bounced up in the courtyard of the fortress with a dull sound. "All of you," he began, holding up the tiara, "you are all guilty. You knew about Aidan and me. How many times have I bled for you, risked my life? I have fought battles for you, and even now, in the darkest hour, you owe your life to me."

Slowly, the undead scurried toward the living, they included. "None of you fought for me as I did for you. Now it's time for you to decide." With these words, he put the tiara on his forehead. The golden metal gradually deformed and was rife with an unnatural blackness. "Kneel, or die."

Anxiously, the survivors gradually fell to their knees. "All hail to Sir Connor, our new ruler!" No one was stupid enough to resist. "Return home and tell your families about the change of throne. Tell them that I will be a tough but just ruler." Connor turned around and reached out for the flag on the top of the tower. The unicorn became a badger with blue eyes. Its fur was green where it should be white. With this, the knight went back to the throne room, leaving his subjects behind.

Slowly he settled on the throne, and rammed both rune blades, left and right, before him into the ground. A purple dome, crisscrossed by illegible runes, surrounded him as he shoved his fingers into each other and stared at the closed wings of the door. He had precise plans for what he would do. He mentally ordered his minions to begin the reconstruction and sent a message to the Dark Lady. The north would fall, as would the south. She would rule, and he would become her champion.


End file.
